


Loose Ends

by kittymills



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gay Keith (Voltron), Hurt/Comfort, M/M, POV Shiro (Voltron), Pining, Pining Shiro (Voltron), SHEITH - Freeform, Shiro (Voltron) Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, gratuitous hair touching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-14
Updated: 2018-06-14
Packaged: 2019-05-23 06:41:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14929160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittymills/pseuds/kittymills
Summary: Shiro is a former pow trying to readjust to civilian life. He also needs a goddamn haircut.What he gets instead is something different all together.





	Loose Ends

**Author's Note:**

> I needed a break from MAFS and this happened.

[X](http://seiteki9.tumblr.com/post/177075880494/a-simple-drawing-that-as-been-picking-up-dust-in)

* * *

 

 

The shop is barely a hole in the wall, a small nondescript space that has him double checking the address on his phone. This was the place his support group had suggested to him.

 _He’s quiet,_ they said. _Won’t talk your ear off.  And he’s not nosy like some of the others around._

Shiro needs quiet. He also needs a goddamn haircut.

His hair is too long now, hanging in a curtain around his head and past his shoulders and after a lifetime of buzz cuts, he really doesn’t know what to do with it.

A figure moves past the window on the inside of the shop, making Shiro blink and straighten his shoulders. Maybe he should have waited until a day when he wasn’t so tired or so on edge but it had taken three buses and an uber to get here, he wasn’t about to turn back now.

Next time he’ll drive, he tells himself.  Next time, he won’t hover in the street fighting back a wave of anxiety. _Next time, next time, next time._

He draws in a breath and reminds himself to stay in the moment. Baby steps. Small goals. Small achievements. That’s how he’ll reintegrate into civilian life again, they tell him. It will take time, and he knows this. But it still doesn’t stop the flinching he experiences when he hears the slam of a car door or the sharp shout of a child in the playground.

He lays a hand on the shop’s door, the way his metal hand catches a glint of sunlight making him pause. It’s another cruel reminder.

It’s been months since he escaped, since he dodged the cruel hands of his captors a final time to make his way home. After months of trying, it had been almost too easy to finally get away and it sometimes made him think he didn’t escape as so much as he was simply just… discarded.

He must pause for too long, because then the door opens slowly from the other side.

“Hi,” a voice says. It’s slightly rough but it feels like honey. “Do you need help?”

Shiro focuses on that voice, the slight scratch it carries making it feel deep and solemn. Such simple words but Shiro latches onto them like a lifeline. Then he lifts his head and his spinning world grinds to a halt.

He’s lovely, the man standing in front of him. Dark hair that’s loose and wild frames his face, softening sharp features and eyes the strangest shade of blue that they almost look violet in the morning sun.  His nose is as straight and as sharp as his jaw, just a slight snub at the end offering a small amount of softness to features that look like they can cut glass. A braid falls over his shoulder, streaks of fierce red and deep purple running through it. The man tilts his head, waiting curiously for a response.

Something shifts in Shiro’s chest. Something that hasn’t seen the light of day for a very long time and it grinds almost painfully as he tries to force his world to start turning again. It shudders under his feet.

“Ah, yes,” Shiro says, surprised he can even find the words. “My support group recommended you. I mean, this place. I have an appointment.”

Dark brows rise up in realisation. Those strange deep blue eyes run over him briefly and Shiro fights the urge to flinch. “You’re Takashi?”

He hasn’t heard that name in a long time. He hates it now.

“Just… Shiro. Call me Shiro.”

“Shiro. Sure.” 

It’s not quite a smile, but it’s warm enough. It’s nice that he’s not too effusive, Shiro thinks. The man’s laconic twist to his lips is believable. Honest.  Not over the top compensating to make brightness where it’s only dark.

“Come on in, and we’ll see what you need,” the man says. He moves with the smooth grace of someone light on their feet. Like he doesn’t have the weight of a head full of nightmares weighing him down. Shiro feels sluggish in comparison and he’s envious.

“I’m Keith,” the man throws casually over his shoulder as Shiro pauses just inside the door. It slides shut behind him with the light jingle of a bell. It’s quiet in here without the sounds of the street and the traffic outside. A bit like a tomb.

The man _– Keith,_ crosses the room and stands behind a plush looking black chair. In front is a mirror and behind him is a sink. Keith waits expectantly, his lean fingers curled over the edge of the backrest. Shiro focuses on them and not on the mirror.

“I can cover it,” Keith says and Shiro’s gaze snaps up. Keith nods at the mirror.  “Whatever you need.”

“No, it’s… It’s okay,” Shiro says. It would be easier not to look at himself, at the ways he’s changed. It would be easier not to look into the mirror and not see the scar across his face and the shock of white at his forehead reflected back at him - but then, he was never known for taking things easy.

He crosses the room and slides into the seat easily despite his towering height. It feels a little bit like a dentist chair and it jolts as Keith starts to lower it. Shiro’s fingers curl around the armrests so tightly they go white.

“Sorry,” Keith says quietly. “You’re a lot taller than my last client.”

“Um, it’s okay,” Shiro says lamely in reply. “Just surprised me.”

Keith offers him an apologetic smile but then it turns into something much warmer. That smile transforms his face and lights up his eyes and Shiro is glad he’s already sitting down. Something that has been dormant for a long time stirs again, grinding and creaking awake.

It doesn’t hurt this time.

“So, what can I help you with?” Keith says. Shiro’s gaze falls to his reflection. “Need a trim or do you want to take it all off?”

Shiro stares at himself in the mirror. Keith watches him with a quiet expression, the smile from earlier slipped into something more subdued. Something patient. Private. He looks down at Shiro’s hair then back up, and their gazes lock in the reflection. The silent question in Keith’s eyes makes Shiro feel a flush of gratitude.

He’s not sure why it’s like that. He’s here for a reason but still, Keith waits for his permission to touch. Shiro nods once and Keith’s lips curve into that not-quite smile again. It softens the sharp planes of his face, and Shiro feels something snap and come completely loose deep inside him.

Keith lifts one hand to collect a clump of Shiro’s long dark strands between his fingers near his scalp, then slides his fingers downwards, combing them with his fingers and massaging away a tangle he encounters just behind Shiro’s ear.  It seems to be a deliberate action and his eyebrows bunch slightly as he concentrates on the motion.

Shiro has to remind himself to answer the question.  To breathe. The touch is… soothing in a way he never expected.

“Uh, just… just chop it all off,” he manages to say but as the words leave his mouth, there’s a flare of panic that sits in the base of his throat.

It’s just hair. Hair will grow back. No need to panic, he tries to tell himself.

Except it was more than that. The length of his hair marked the long months in captivity. With each extra inch, his hopes of rescue faded. With each inch that grew, he found a solace behind that a curtain of hair he never thought he’d have again.

Now he was about to cut it off, to slice away the very last line of his defence in an attempt to wash away the trauma of what he had been through. And for what? For who? So strangers in the street didn’t look at him with unease and distrust, so the people who knew him before his captivity weren’t reminded daily of how long they’d left him languishing?

“All of it?” Keith asks and their gazes meet in the mirror again. “I could just trim-“

“I don’t know,” Shiro swallows then. He has the sudden urge to get up, to push past the lovely stranger that lays his hands on him and back out into the street. He pictures himself doing that and his heart rate flares, but he doesn’t move.

Keith’s hand rests against his shoulder. “It’s okay,” he says softly and Shiro’s eyes slide closed under the slight huskiness in his voice.

Shiro’s not sure how long he sits there, willing his heart rate to go back to normal, but he likes the way Keith doesn’t try to rush him. Soft music plays in the background, a little mournful that feels soulful. Deep. Shiro focuses on the melody, trying to recognise it and it carries him back.

“I’m sorry about this,” he manages to say a short time later. Keith hasn’t moved and Shiro decides he doesn’t like the stillness on him. Like he’s watching Shiro like a wounded animal and needs to tread carefully.

It’s exactly what it is, but Shiro doesn’t want to admit that.

He’s ready to call it quits, to pull himself out of the chair and go home, just another failed venture in a litany of failed attempts of living a normal life since he’d returned but there’s something about Keith that he’s reluctant to leave. There’s something loose inside him now, something sniffing and gently exploring, poking at parts of him he’d long considered dead and calcified from his time in captivity. 

It’s more though, he realises after a moment. Keith has moved away, shuffling idly in the background in an attempt to give Shiro a moment to collect his thoughts and Shiro finds himself thinking about Keith instead. 

He seems like an intriguing package and when Shiro looks at him, something faint registers at the back of his mind as though perhaps they’ve met once before.  He doesn’t believe so, someone like Keith would be hard to forget. The braid over one shoulder, the smears of colour mixed in with that deep raven hue. Those tight jeans that covers the curve of his lean muscles as he moves around. And his eyes. Those eyes that are so much more than just their unusual colour, but hints of another world beyond their own.

He’s lovely in ways that Shiro isn’t. That he’s never be again and he finds himself inexplicably drawn to something bright, like a moth to a flame.

Maybe it’s too soon. Maybe it’s a mistake to want to open his mouth to blurt out his trauma but when Keith turns around and his steady gaze locks with his, Shiro lets it tumble out.

“I always had it short,” he starts to say. Keith moves closer towards him, standing again at Shiro’s back. Shiro focuses on the reflection in the mirror. Some how it’s easier to talk to a reflected version of them, where Keith’s brightness isn’t so visceral. “But when I was…”

It’s been months. He should be able to say it. He has before. He doesn’t know why he can’t today.

“Away?” Keith offers. His lips twist, a not-quite smile again. Shiro pauses then nods.

“Yes. Away,” he almost chuckles as he says it but it tastes kind of ashy.

Away in body, away in soul. He had been so far away he was still trying to find his way back. “It grew, just kept growing and it became… a defence. A way to hide from the ugliness.”

“Do you want to keep it? Nothing wrong if you do,” Keith says.  Shiro sees a warmth in Keith’s eyes and he gets the strange sense it’s just for him. He lets himself indulge in the fantasy for a slit second before forcing himself back.

Keith’s hands lift to trail through Shiro’s strands again and that touch makes Shiro’s breath catch. A stray thought peeps out of the darkness; he wants Keith to do that in another setting. Against pale sheets, looming over him, hands warm and exploratory and for the first time since that long ago mission when so horribly wrong, Shiro experiences a lick of heat inside him.

He’d almost forgotten what that felt like.

“I do. But I don’t,” he finally says. He hopes Keith can’t read his thoughts. He drops his gaze to his lap.

Keith surprises him with a low chuckle. He trails his hands through Shiro’s hair more confidently then, his short nails tugging lightly against Shiro’s scalp.

“You were a soldier, right? So, I expect you’re used to a buzz cut.”

“Yeah. I mean, I don’t know what to do with… all this,” and he gestures at the length.  “I definitely can’t do that,” he adds and nods at Keith’s own hair. 

Keith grins at him in the mirror. “Yeah, it can be work. I think I know a way you could have the best of both worlds though.”

Shiro frowns. “How?”

“Ever heard of a Samurai bun?”

“A what? Is this because I’m Japanese?” Shiro asks in confusion. He’s not sure if he should be annoyed then decides he couldn’t possibly be when he notes the way Keith’s eye’s crinkle a little in the corners and his lips turn upwards when he lets out a small laugh. It lightens the weight on Shiro’s chest instantly.

He wants to hear more of that laugh.

“I didn’t know you were Japanese, but I should have guessed by your name. No, it’s a style. Let me find a photo.”

Keith moves away to reach for his phone. The movement takes his contact away from Shiro and he finds that he misses it. A flicker of unease rolls through him. He doesn’t know what this is, this sudden attraction, this sudden interest in someone else. Maybe it’s what he needs, instead of being turned so inward and looking down on his trauma, his past experiences, maybe he needs to look up and out. Maybe he needs to be looking at Keith.

Keith fiddles with his phone then leans over Shiro’s shoulder to show him and it puts their heads in close enough proximity that Shiro can feel the heat radiating off Keith’s body. It’s like the sun touching and spreading out over the land after a long, cold winter and it warms him in a way that makes his whole body yearn for more.

It takes him a moment to focus, to blink away the sudden tears there.

“Like this,” Keith says after a beat. He flicks between a few images, men with a loose messy bun on top and a closely cropped undercut beneath. “It’s easy to maintain, you just have the length on top if you still want it, but it won’t be as thick or as heavy. Best of both worlds.”

Keith leans back and puts his phone to the side.  His eyes find Shiro’s in the mirror again. If he notices the dampness in them, he doesn’t comment.

“That sounds good,” Shiro forces himself to say. His voice feels like gravel.

“It will mean you’ll still need regular cuts though. For underneath,” Keith clarifies.  “Unless you want it longer.”

Shiro seizes on that like a dying man in the desert and Keith is an oasis. He tries not to sound too eager. “How often?”

“Every two or three weeks I guess,” Keith says with a shrug. “Depends on how fast it grows and how close you want it cut. We can set up a regular appointment.”

Shiro tries to catch Keith’s eye again but he’s looking away, busying himself with drawing over a stool and his tray of scissors and combs. It’s been a long time but there was something about the way Keith said it that had Shiro straightening ever so slightly. Something about his tone, like maybe he was as hopeful as Shiro was. That maybe… maybe Keith saw something in Shiro he might want to get to know better.

Then Shiro remembers where he is, that he was a client and Keith was running a business and the scratch against his soul makes him swallow and he reminds himself he’s got a long way to go before he’s ready to open himself up. If he ever is.

And someone like Keith? Even a blind man would be able to sense the fire contained inside him. Too bright to languish in Shiro’s darkness.

“Sure,” he says.  He wonders if his tampered down interest is evident in his voice.

He hopes it’s not.

 

* * *

 

Months pass and Shiro’s long standing appointment to visit Keith’s small shop every third Saturday starts to become the highlight of his very simple world.

Adjusting to civilian life became just that tiny bit easier when he had something to look forward to and with his regular sessions with his support group and his therapists to fill his weeks, those third weekends of ever month roll around surprisingly quick.

He starts to smile more. He starts to laugh more. He heals.

He smiles more at Keith in the mirror and he finds Keith smiling back.

It’s getting dark outside but Shiro slips into the shop for his latest appointment with a stomp of wet boots and a dripping umbrella. He shakes it out roughly and lays it against the doorframe before he looks up.

Keith is perched in his usual place, on a small stool by the cutting station, his phone in his hands. His braid looks longer these days, curling over one shoulder to lie flat against his chest. He looks up as Shiro enters and Shiro’s heart does a familiar little clench.

“Hey,” Keith says brightly. He says it like he’s happy to see him and Shiro is flooded with warmth.  “I wasn’t sure if you would make it with all this rain today. It’s going to be a rough one by the sounds of it.”

“It’s hell out there. I thought my car was going to wash off the road at one point,” Shiro tells him. He crosses the room as Keith stands up and Shiro takes his usual place in front of the mirror. Keith drapes the sheet over his shoulders and Shiro tries not to zone in on the way Keith’s hands linger ever so slightly.

“I’m surprised you drove. It’s a long way from your place isn’t it?”

Shiro nods, watching the reflection in the mirror as Keith undoes the knot holding the top part of his hair back. The loose strands release and tumble down, and Keith strokes them with a small smile on his lips.  Shiro likes the way Keith’s finger tips skim his scalp as he measures Shiro’s hair. 

“Worth it though,” Shiro says honestly. “It will drive me crazy if I don’t come.”

Keith’s lips twitch, just a small smile Shiro doesn’t quite know how to read. He wasn’t lying, his undercut getting too long will drive him crazy, but not seeing Keith will drive him crazier.

He sits in the chair as Keith cuts, watching the play of concentration flitter over Keith’s face as he moves around Shiro’s head with the comb and a pair of lethal looking scissors. The first time Keith had tried to use the clippers, Shiro had struggled with the noise and the sensation so Keith reverted to trimming Shiro’s hair by hand. It took longer, it wasn’t as close a cut, but it was quiet and the steady snip and glide as Keith worked was oddly hypnotic. Watching Keith work in the mirror fast became his guilty pleasure. Keith was beautiful.

They talk occasionally as they always do, vague superficial things that never get too deep. Some days Shiro feels chatty, most days he’s quiet. Keith seems to read his moods the instant he walks through the door and adapts himself accordingly but so often Shiro finds himself sitting in the silence watching Keith and he aches to know more.

Finally, Keith finishes and he pulls off the cape from Shiro’s shoulders.  He sits back with the twist of satisfaction on his lips as he inspects his handy work again.  Shiro runs his hand over the new cut and smiles.  “Thanks, Keith.”

Keith smiles back at him and it’s always in that moment that Shiro wants to say more.

_I like you. You make me feel warm when everything else is cold._

“See you next time,” Keith says as he hands back Shiro’s credit card at the counter. Their fingers brush and Shiro itches to step closer but he doesn’t. The rain still beats down outside.

He collects his umbrella and steps back out into the rainy street.  Away from Keith’s presence it feels grey again but he tells himself it’s just the clouds as he heads to his car. It refuses to start and he wants to groan in frustration.

He stomps to the curb, swearing softly to himself as he tries to juggle his phone out of his pocket and hold the umbrella at the same time. There’s no shelter from the rain and suddenly the downpour increases, beating against the surface of his umbrella so hard the sound becomes deafening. Water pools around his boots and the wind whips up enough rain that he ends up drenched all over and his wet fingers make his phone slip and it lands on the pavement with a dull splash.

_“Son of a bi-”_

His shoulders sag as his screen flickers and goes black. So much for calling for roadside assistance.  He’s bending down to retrieve it when a familiar voice calls out.

“Shiro!”

He barely has time to turn around before another umbrella jostles him, and a firm hand he recognises well reaches out to grab his bicep. He glances down to find Keith huddled under his umbrella, almost as drenched as him. His dark hair is plastered to his head.

“Keith? What are you doing out here?”

“I saw you from my window. What’s going on?”

“My damn car died,” Shiro sighs. He shows Keith his dripping phone. He’s completely drenched now, and he shivers in the wind.  “So did my phone. Can I borrow yours to make a call?”

“Yeah, of course. Not out here though. Come back to the shop.”

Shiro doesn’t need to be told twice and for the second time that afternoon, he finds himself shaking out the rain from his umbrella in Keith’s doorway.

“God, this weather is insane,” he says with a wince, looking down at the puddle forming around him.  Keith hands him the cordless phone from the shop and Shiro dials the emergency number for roadside assistance only to be told that they were currently inundated with calls and it would be a good few hours at least before they’ll be able to send anyone to assist. 

Shiro sighs again as he hands Keith’s phone back.

“Sorry, I guess you’re stuck with me a bit longer.”

“I’m shutting up soon,” Keith answers. He reaches into one of his storage cupboards and throws Shiro a plush black towel.  Shiro dries his face and what he can of his clothes gratefully before he realises what Keith has said.

“Oh, no problem, I can find a coffee shop or something to wait it out if you need to go.”

Keith takes the now dripping towel from him with an amused smile on his lips. The sight of it makes Shiro’s ache a little before he forces the emotion away.  “I live upstairs,” Keith informs him easily.  “You can come up and wait up there. I’d offer you some dry clothes but I don’t think I have anything that fits you.”

Shiro flushes slightly at that. He’d been a lot leaner when they’d first met but as he’d healed his mind, he’d healed his body too. He’d got back to his original bulk and as Keith rakes his eyes up and down Shiro’s form, he experiences a faint flicker of hope that maybe… maybe Keith had noticed.

“I have a dryer though,” Keith adds, turning on his heel and walking to the door of the shop and locking it. “You can dry your stuff if you want.”

Shiro has to swallow back the lump that suddenly appears in his throat. A heavy bead of interest makes itself known, curling around the base of his spine. He’d be almost naked in Keith’s apartment and that same sudden need washes over him again.  The same one that steals into his mind when he’s lying in the dark, one hand wrapped around himself and pumping slowly as imagines Keith’s body against him.

Fuck. He hopes Keith can’t read those thoughts. Keith was offering him shelter from the storm, literally. He couldn’t make it weird by fantasizing about something that will never happen.

Why would it?

Keith was bright and beautiful like the sun, and Shiro was a moon displaced from orbit. Shiny things didn’t want lifeless rock like him.

“Ah, okay,” he finally says hesitantly. He follows Keith as Keith switches off the lights and leads him to an internal door he’s never noticed before. On the other side is a flight of stairs and they trudge up them in silence.

Keith’s place is warm and eclectic, a mismatched array of well loved furniture and books on every surface, house plants on the windowsills and colourful crocheted quilts draped over the armrest of the lounge. It seems… oddly unexpected for Keith.

Keith notices him glancing around and gives him a rueful smile. “I grew up here with my mom. When she passed, I couldn’t bear to change anything. It’s… it’s like she’s still here like this.”

“Oh,” Shiro says softly. He’s peculiarly touched by that sentiment. Then he clears his throat. “I’m sorry. For your loss,” he adds hurriedly when Keith gives him another amused glance. 

“Thanks,” and Shiro can tell by the way he says it that he’s sincere. “She was my foster mom. I owe her a lot. The shop downstairs was actually hers. Keeping it running just felt like the right thing to do.”

It’s a surprising amount of information that Keith offers and Shiro soaks it up.

“Here,” Keith disappears for a moment, leaving Shiro to hover by the doorway. He returns wearing different clothes and holding more towels. “Uh, if you want to get the wet stuff off, I can throw it in the dryer. It’s kind of old and slow though so it might take a while.”

Shiro stares at the towels, then down at his jeans. He thinks about the mottled scarring on his body, the shiny metal and ugly scars where his prosthetic joins to him and swallows hard. It brings up a maelstrom of panic he tries so hard to fight back down. “I-“

“It’s okay,” Keith soothes. He places one hand on Shiro’s forearm. The one that still him and not part machine.  “It you’d rather not-“

Keith gives him a little shrug then goes into the small kitchen. It’s not really more than a sink and a counter and he pulls open the door of the fridge to peer inside.  “Do you want something to drink?”

Shiro quickly towels himself down again and steps deeper into the apartment. It’s still daylight outside but under the heavy cloud cover it’s waning fast. He wonders how long he will be able to stay until Keith is going to kick him out. He doesn’t relish the thought of trying to find a way across town with only public transport in the middle of a storm.

Then again, it’s just a bit of rain. How difficult could it really be.

He rubs the back of his neck and flushes when he realises Keith is still waiting for an answer. “No, I’m good. Look, I won’t stay long. It’s a Saturday, you probably have plans-“

“Where exactly are you going to go?” Keith asks him in amusement. He hands Shiro a glass of water anyway and trudges over to the couch, flopping down easily.  He’s got such a feline grace that Shiro can’t help but stare. Keith nods to the empty cushion beside him.  “You might as well make yourself at home. You might be here a while.”

Shiro’s feet feel like they’re suddenly made of lead. He can’t bring himself to move. He wants to, god he wants too. But he also doesn’t know how he can sit quite so close to Keith without aching for more.

He’s kind of tired of the ache. He’s been carrying it around in his chest for months now. Stupid that he’s fallen in love with the man who cuts his hair. They weren’t even friends.

“What about- what about your girlfriend?” Shiro hedges. It’s hard to tell, glancing around the apartment. The furnishings have a distinctly feminine touch but Keith had also mentioned it was his foster mother’s. Shiro feels his face heat awkwardly when Keith leans back, placing his boots on the edge of the coffee table and looking at Shiro with a pointedly raised eyebrow. “Uh. Boyfriend?” Shiro tries again.

Keith lets out a bark of laughter. His eyes crinkle closed and the swell of his lips curve upwards.  Shiro savours the sound. He tucks it away in his memory to turn over and admire later when he’s alone in the dark.

“No girlfriend or boyfriend, sorry to disappoint,” Keith finally says. He’s grinning at Shiro openly and the way that grin changes the energy in the room makes Shiro take a step closer without even realising. Keith nods at the empty space beside him again.

“Thanks,” Shiro says as he lowers himself down. He feels large next to Keith. He takes up more room on the couch, his legs are longer. He’s not sure what to do with his hands so lays one in his lap and holds the glass with his prosthetic. He doesn’t realise how hard he’s gripping it until there’s a crack and his jeans are suddenly wet.

“Shit,” he mutters. When his hand unfurls, the glass is cracked.  “Shit,” he says again. “I’m sorry.”

“Hey, it’s cool,” Keith almost laughs. He takes the cracked glass from Shiro’s hand and reaches behind him to grab one of their towels from earlier. He presses it to Shiro’s leg. “Your clothes are wet again though.”

“Yeah,” Shiro shakes his head and wishes he was somewhere else. No, that’s not true. He wants to be here with Keith. He just wishes he could rewind five minutes or so.

A bit later, Keith suggests putting a movie on to kill time and he makes a comment about ordering a pizza before they both look out the window only to find the rain still pouring down and the streets awash with water. It looks dangerously wet outside and Shiro wonders if he’s even going to have a car to restart. There seems to be a scary chance it might wash away all together.

“Maybe we should check the news?” Shiro suggests uneasily. Night is creeping closer and the sky turns from grey to deep electric blue before deepening to black. The streetlights make the water droplets on the window sparkle and it’s almost pretty.

It’d be the perfect kind of night for a night in. Shiro’s thoughts skate dangerously close to imagining a date like this with Keith. The two of them holed up inside with nowhere else to be, no one else to want them. Keith said there wasn’t a girlfriend or a boyfriend in the picture that that didn’t mean there wasn’t someone else who held his interest out there waiting.

The thought of it makes Shiro a little sad.

Keith flips on the tv to the news station and their fears are confirmed. Official guidance from the local agencies was to stay indoors unless it was an emergency and Shiro finds himself staring at the TV helplessly. 

“I’m sorry,” he finally mutters. “I’m sure you have better things to do-“

“Shiro,” Keith cuts him off with a frown. “It’s fine. I… I enjoy having you here.”

Shiro blinks at the last few words and they seem so far removed from reality and too deeply ingrained in his own fantasy that he ignores it. He casts around for a different topic of conversation instead.

“So, uh. Did you learn to do hair from your mother?”

Shiro is sure he imagines the faint flicker of disappointment in Keith’s eyes. Keith shrugs. “Yeah, she had me working in the shop every day after school and on weekends. I hated it.”

Shiro eyes him curiously. “Then why still do it?”

“Like I said, I owe her a lot. I know this is what she wanted. It won’t be for forever,” Keith adds on. It sounds a little like he’s trying to convince himself. “Just for a few years.”

“That’s… that’s good of you.”

Keith snorts a little at that and Shiro gets the distinct impression that it’s now a closed subject of conversation. It’s confirmed when Keith picks up the remote and turns another movie back on. 

“Hope this one is better than the last one,” he says and they settle back on the couch. Once again, Shiro is acutely aware of his large frame next to Keith and he finds himself sitting rigidly, almost leaning away.

It’s the opposite of what he wants to do.

The movie fails to hold his attention. How could it with a brightly burning star right beside him. He wishes the room was darker, so he could watch Keith instead of the flickering images on the screen.  He was so much closer to him now, he would be able to study the line of Keith’s jaw in detail, to examine the patterns his pale freckles on the bridge of nose make. Would they form constellations like the ones Shiro made out of the walls of his cell or would they be as random and as beautiful as Keith himself.

He gets his wish a short time later when the lights flicker, then darkness descends.

“Oh. Okay. Blackouts now,” Shiro mutters. The air shifts beside him and realises he’s now alone on the couch.  He can hear Keith shuffling about in the dark and he tries to make out the vague shape of him in the shadows before there is the hiss of a match and some golden light flickers to life in the kitchen. Keith lights a candle and carries it over, placing it into the centre of the coffee table.

“Well,” Keith says with a half smile. He comes back to the couch and takes his seat again.  Shiro tells himself it’s only because it’s dark, Keith can’t see where he’s going and that’s why Keith suddenly feels so much closer to him. He’s almost in Shiro’s lap and despite his brain screaming at him to back away, to give Keith some space, to not make it _weird,_ he’s powerless to move. He’s selfish. He wants to be this close. “This is cosy.”

Shiro chuckles but a strange sense of something heavy begins to unfurl in his gut. The shadows at his back seem to push on him.  “So, what do we do now?”

“Hmm,” Keith taps his chin. The flame casts warm light over his face, sliding over the sharp planes of his features. Somehow it makes him even more attractive to Shiro’s eyes and Shiro looses himself a little in the beauty of him. “I guess I could look for a set of playing cards. Wait here.”

Shiro barely manages to hold back the soft noise of protest as Keith rises and moves away. Shiro follows his progress in the shadows, the light from his phone screen running over the bookshelf nearby as he searches. “Got some,” he holds them up triumphantly.

The card games fill another hour and Shiro finds himself relaxing as the candle burns lower. He’s always been braver in the shadows. He lets himself smile a little more, he lets himself stare a little more, secure in the comfort that the darkness with hide his softness towards the other man in front of him.

Shiro is slowly realising that what he felt for Keith earlier was now transcended a thousand-fold. This honied, intimate glimpse Keith has given him is both painful and sweet. The small bundle of emotion he’s been carrying around in his chest feels ever enlarging. He stops trying to fight it, stops trying to imagine they can be more and just savours the moment. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever get it again.

They’re side by side when something seems to change. Or maybe it was just Shiro’s imagination trying to run away from him. He chuckles lightly at something Keith says as the lay their cards out on the coffee table. The candle has burned lower again, barely a stub. It will go out completely soon.

He reaches for the cards at the same time Keith does. Their fingers brush and connect and the sizzle there makes Shiro’s heart thunder in his chest. He doesn’t want to pull away but oddly, Keith doesn’t pull away either.

And god. Oh god, Shiro longs for more. 

“Sorry,” he hears himself whisper. He doesn’t dare move.

“For what?” Keith breathes. His voice gets rougher when it’s quiet. Shiro enjoys it too much.

He forgets to answer when Keith shifts slightly, turning his head just enough that Shiro can’t quite read the expression in his eyes. He’s not focused anyway, he’s too busy watching the way Keith’s lips shift and move in the candlelight. Keith’s lips part and his tongue slides out to lick them briefly. The sight sends and instant flash of heat right into the very core of him.

Whoever said love was pain wasn’t far wrong.

He’s so accustomed to Keith’s touch against his hair that he doesn’t realise at first. He doesn’t realise when Keith’s hand moves to his head, the pads of his fingers rubbing against the softly shorn hair of his scalp. Then he does, and his eye go wide.

It feels comforting. It feels right. It feels like everything he’s ever wished on those nights driving away from his appointment, wishing he could be braver, wishing he could take a chance and ask Keith if all those long glances, the lingering touches, the warm smile when he walks in the door, if any of those things could mean something more. If maybe, there could be a chance that Keith could fall in love with Shiro like Shiro so clearly had with him.

Shiro’s eyes close, drifting down under the ministrations of the man beside him. It was dangerous and painful to hope. It was agonising to dream but sitting here like this with the storm outside and the candlelight kissing their skin, Shiro lets himself.  _Just for a moment_ , he tells himself.  _Let me just pretend._

“Shiro,” Keith says it like it hurts and it makes his eyes flutter open again. Keith’s brows bunch together and the expression on his face is something he can’t understand. Keith’s lips are full and parted softly, his gaze travels over the line of Shiro’s jaw. There’s something there Shiro thinks he might want to see more of but he doesn’t let himself believe. 

Then Keith speaks again and the world falls out from under him. 

“Can I kiss you?”

Shiro’s brain stutters then backs up, replaying the words Keith had whispered. It doesn’t seem right, it doesn’t compute. He must be dreaming. He has to be. He’s hallucinating.

“Keith?” he croaks, his throat already dry. His tone is questioning enough that Keith lifts his hands to Shiro’s face, dragging the pads of his fingertips over his jaw gently before capturing Shiro’s face, forcing their gazes to lock. Keith’s eyes shine. The candle flickers and dies and then there’s nothing but Keith’s warm hands on his cheeks in the darkness.

“Can I kiss you?” Keith asks again.  The darkness makes his words sound loud and this time there’s no mistaking his request.

“Yes,” Shiro whispers. It sounds like a gasp.

There’s no light, not even from the streetlamps outside Keith’s apartment’s windows but somehow it makes it easier for them to find each other. Keith kisses him, softly, just a mere brush of their lips then draws back. Shiro feels his breath skitter over his cheek.

“Was that okay?” Keith asks quietly. He tilts his head forward, the soft strands of his hair brush against him and Shiro trembles with the weight of his yearning.

He wants this more than he’s ever wanted anything. Even life.

“Yes,” he breathes it out like a prayer, begging for more and Keith leans in again. Their second kiss is as tender as their first. A sweet hover, a touch of pressure and a whisper that seems to fall directly from Shiro’s heart. He murmurs Keith’s name against his mouth and his hands twitch, snaking their way slowly over Keith’s thigh as they start to turn in towards each other as the kiss strengthens, mouths sliding and delving deeper.  Kissing Keith is every dream of starlight he’s ever had, all at once.

Keith’s hands slide up Shiro’s chest as they kiss, over the material of his shirt then down again. He pulls away long enough to press his nose against Shiro’s shoulder, a rolling shudder skimming over his shoulders. He feels so good. Keith tucks against him perfectly.

There’s another kiss, and then Keith is drawing himself away. Shiro wants to moan at the sudden aching loss he feels. _Come back,_ he wants to say but he doesn’t get the chance. Keith slides one leg over, settling into Shiro’s lap with slow deliberate action. Every movement, he’s taking it slowly.

He can feel the question in Keith’s motions.

_Is this okay? Is this too much?_

It never is. It never could be.

Shiro lays his hands on Keith’s hips and Keith kisses him again. Sunlight blooms inside him, making the warmth flood through his veins. Keith feels like something precious and Shiro holds him with wide and trembling hands splayed softly against his back.

“Keith,” he whispers. “Please-“

He’s not sure what he’s begging for. The words tangle in his throat as the swell of hope inside his chest starts to grow larger. It feels like he’s loved Keith silently for months, since the first moment he walked into the shop and laid eyes on him and those dusty walls fell away to reveal a heart that still beat inside his chest. A heart that still craved, that still wanted to love. He needs this to be more, he needs Keith to know he can’t surrender himself without knowing Keith will be prepared to catch him. He’s better, but he still feels the cracks sometimes.

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” Keith breathes against him. The darkness makes Keith brave too. Brave enough to press his hands against Shiro’s chest and push him further into the couch and Shiro welcomes the pressure even as he tries to absorb Keith’s words. 

Keith has been wanting this too. Shiro’s body trembles with the realization.

Keith takes his mouth again, nimble hands skimming over him even as Keith’s mouth trails along Shiro’s jaw, kissing down his neck as he sucks in a lungful of air. His hands tighten against Keith’s hips and he has the urge to drive up. He’s aching, both hot and cold and spinning out of control on a sensation of touch that he hasn’t felt in so long. And a soul deep warmth he hasn’t felt in so long.

The thought crosses his mind that it might have all been worth it if it led to Keith.

Keith steals the air from his lips again, those beautiful lips of his kissing down into Shiro’s mouth and Shiro strokes the length of his braid, twisting the strands between his fingers much like Keith would do to his in the chair.  Keith seems to catch his motion and he pauses long enough to smile against Shiro’s cheek.

“I didn’t know,” Shiro murmurs.  “I didn’t dare hope-“

“As soon as you walked in that door,” Keith whispers. He sounds breathless and it’s beautiful. “I never wanted you to walk back out. But I don’t want to rush you. If you’re not ready-“

Shiro seeks out Keith’s hands in the darkness, he entwines their fingers together and their foreheads touch. His heart beats out a tempo he can’t count but it doesn’t matter because under the pad of his thumb, he can feel Keith’s pulse do the same.

He’s about to lean in to kiss Keith again when there’s a few soft beeps and the lights in the apartment flicker back into life. The sudden burst of brightness makes them both blink and Shiro has the dizzying fear that maybe things will be different in the light.

He’s almost afraid to lift his head but Keith tilts his jaw up with his finger. It’s impossible not to met his eyes.

“Power’s back,” Shiro says unnecessarily into the sudden silence between them. Keith’s eyes are fixed on Shiro’s lips but his mouth quirks upwards.

“Yeah, it is. Doesn’t change anything though,” Keith adds after a moment.

It’s both what he wants and what he’s afraid to hear.

“I’m a mess, Keith. I’m in love with you, but I’m a mess.”

“No, you’re not,” Keith tells him. Keith’s hand steals upwards to curl around Shiro’s nape and draw their foreheads together. Shiro can’t be sure, but he thinks maybe Keith’s eyes are wet. “You’re incredible and you’re healing. You’ve come so far from the man that first stood outside my shop.”

“I’ll never be like I was before,” Shiro says. He doesn’t want to push Keith away when he’s so close, but he needs to be sure. He needs Keith to be sure.

“I don’t care about that. I didn’t know that person. I only know you. I want you. I want this. I want to try, Shiro.” Keith kisses him again. “If you do.”

Shiro’s breath hitches at each one of Keith’s words until there’s nothing left in his lungs. His arms tighten around the man in his lap.

“Yes,” Shiro says breathlessly. “Yes, I want to.”

Then Keith breathes the life back into him.

 

* * *

 

It’s almost a year later when the next time a similar storm breaks ground.

Shiro stands by the window of the apartment, leaning against the frame with a warm mug of cocoa in his hands and watching the water rush down the street outside. Keith joins him a short time later and Shiro drapes an arm around his shoulders and tucks him in close.

It’s been almost a year since that night. Since that night Keith cupped his face in his hands and kissed him and everything changed. It’s been a year of healing and joy and love after so long in the darkness.

“I wonder if we will lose power again?” Keith muses idly. He takes the mug from Shiro’s hands and places it on the sill then turns to loop his arms around Shiro’s neck. Shiro wraps around him, his cheek against the top of Keith’s head as Keith leans against his chest. 

“Good things happen when we lose power,” Shiro chuckles.

 _So many good things,_ he thinks when Keith tilts his face up for a kiss. Shiro obliges and sinks into it. It’s always like the first time, that warm cloak of contentment that slips around him when Keith lays his mouth on his. He tangles his fingers into Keith’s braid, even longer now and deepens their kiss. 

“Let’s go to bed,” Keith says quietly when they part for air. He’s smiling softly as he says it, a knowing look in his eyes. Shiro doesn’t want to say no. He couldn’t bear to. 

“Whatever you want,” he says quietly and Keith entwines their hands and leads them into their bedroom. They leave the lights in here off, letting the shadows fall over their bodies as they undress. Shiro knows Keith would kiss away the scars if he could but it’s Shiro who doesn’t like to look at them. Shiro pulls Keith down on top of him, sinking into the sheets that already carry their scent from the night before and Keith glides over him as their mouths dual together in deep, slow kisses.

Even after a year, there is no urgency. There’s no rush. There’s time to savour and drift and linger and it’s everything Shiro never realised he needed. Keith rolls under him, arching up and the room becomes filled with the sounds of their breathing, soft gasps and low moans as Shiro strokes his hands down the man in his arms. Keith blooms like a flower, opening up and sprawled against the sheets, his braid now messy and loose across the pillows.  Shiro catches the glimpses of him in the streetlights filtering through their sheer curtains and he’s beautiful, so beautiful that Shiro trembles as he drives into Keith’s body and claims him.

“Shiro,” Keith sighs.

He kisses away the soft sounds from Keith’s lips as Keith clutches at his sweat soaked skin with blunt fingertips. He adds more force to his motions, enough that it has Keith’s eyes flying open. He reaches for a strand of Keith’s hair and follows it to the back of Keith’s neck, curling his fingers against his scalp and leaning down. He presses their foreheads together and their breath blends together in heat.

“Keith, I love you,” he gasps. He drives deeper and Keith moans. “Marry me.”

Keith stills under him, the only movement the deep rise and fall of his chest. His eyes glitter in the low light and his mouth parts. Shiro feels him clench around him and he gasps. “I mean it,” he says it earnestly, the emotion, the love, the gratitude snakes up his spine and flies out. He’s never meant anything more.  “Will you?”

It takes some of the longest moments of Shiro’s life before Keith can find his voice.

“Yes,” Keith breathes it out on a sigh. His eyes drift closed and he goes loose under Shiro. Shiro slides a wide palm up the side of his body and Keith smiles languidly. “I’ll marry you a thousand times over. A thousand times yes. In every lifetime.”

“Keith,” Shiro groans out his relief, and then his tempo is back and he’s once again driving into Keith with a force he can’t contain.  Keith rises up to greet him, just as he always does and they meet halfway in the middle, a messy tangle of limbs and mouths and sweetly whispered endearments as starlight shatters around them.

It’s later, with Shiro’s head nestled against Keith’s chest, one arm slung across Keith’s hips that he smiles.

“I never thought a haircut could lead to this,” he says. Keith’s laughter rumbles lightly in his chest.  Keith lifts his hand to the light. A silver band sits against his finger. It looks like it’s always been there.

“I’m so glad it did,” Keith says. He’s quiet for a moment longer, his hand dropping to Shiro’s head, dancing along his shoulder as they lie in bed. Shiro has found heaven. “But maybe it’s time I gave it away.”

It takes a little while for Shiro to understand the implication of what Keith says. Shiro lifts his head and a long tuft of his hair falls forward. Keith’s expression is serious when he tucks it behind Shiro’s ear.

“What do you mean?” Shiro asks.

“I was doing it for my mom,” Keith says. He looks at his hand on Shiro’s jaw but Shiro knows it’s not him Keith sees in that moment. “And it brought you to me. But it’s time for us now. We could go somewhere, do something… travel? Together.”

Shiro looms over Keith, shifting until Keith is trapped between his heavy bulk and the sheets. A vision suddenly forms behind his eyes. Of them and a life they would have together. They could as Keith says, travel, live, love and explore life. And they could do all that together.

“I’d like that,” he says quietly. Keith’s answering smile lights up his world. “Whatever you want.”

Shiro kisses him sweetly and his hair forms a curtain around them. He went for a haircut but received so much more.


End file.
